


and death shall have no dominion

by BeanieBaby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assume Daenerys and Jon did not sleep together in season 7, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Jaime the Queenslayer, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jorah Lives, M/M, No Incest, Queen Daenerys, Rhaegal likes Jon, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanieBaby/pseuds/BeanieBaby
Summary: “You are more North than anyone of those cock-sucking lords and ladies, crow. You fought alongside us against the dead. You died for us, and for that, you’ll always have a home beyond the Wall regardless of who sired you.”Jon’s breath stilled in his lungs when Tormund pressed their foreheads together. He’d seen other wildlings embrace like this before, but it had always been between family members. Warmth bloomed from the contact. Jon swallowed, willing his heart to be still so he could hear Tormund’s whispered words.“Jon,” The fire-kissed wildling said, “Not a Targaryen or Snow. Just Jon.”(Season8!AU where Daenarys does not burn down King’s Landing, Jon actually helps, and Rhaegal lives. Self Indulgent Fix-it.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A PURELY SELF-INDULGENT FIC. 
> 
> EVENTUAL JONMUND (WILL GET EXPLICIT). OTHER SHIPS ARE BACKGROUND.
> 
> YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

_Jon._

 

_He loved her till the bitter end._

_Robert’s rebellion was built upon a lie._

Sam’s words echoed in Jon’s ear long after his departure. His head buzzed with the revelation, and the world seemed to slide a little more out of focus with every breath Jon took. He was a summer child, born thousands of miles south of Winterfell in the dry mountains of Dorne. Rhaegar Targaryen was his real father, and the honorable man he had looked up to his whole life had lied to protect his identity.

Jon’s feet took him to the godswood. Snow crunched beneath his knees as he knelt. Growing up, he had often chanced up Catelyn Stark seated alone and praying to the Seven. He wondered if she’d ever prayed for them to take him away, to remove the tarnished reminder of Ned’s false betrayal. Jon hoped fervently that in death she would somehow learn of the truth, but deep down, he knew there was nothing waiting for them on the other side.

A sudden gust of wind and descending darkness signaled the arrival of one of Dany’s dragons. Sansa had complained of their appetite for lamb earlier, but now standing face to face with the green and bronze one that had lifted him into the sky earlier that day, Jon was suddenly grateful that they did not outright crave the flesh of man.

Rhaegal’s breath washed over him in a hot gust, rattling the ice crystals hanging off the weirwood tree behind Jon. Drogon, the larger of the two, was nowhere in sight. Carefully, Jon got to his feet. He had removed his sword belt in order to pray, and it now lay several feet away in the snow, a useless piece of steel stuck in it’s sheath.

 _Besides,_ he thought as he moved closer to the beast, _if Rhaegal wanted him dead, that one valyrian steel sword was not going to change anything._

The dragon made a curious cooing noise deep in its throat when Jon lifted his hand. He wondered if Rhaegal could smell the Targaryen blood in him, whether the dragon knew that he had been named after Jon’s father. His fingers touched the rough green scales on Rhaegal’s nose.

“Hello there,” Jon murmured, skating his hand over the dragon’s jaw.

“I don’t feel like a Targaryen,” He told the beast, “and yet you are already treating me like one.”

Rhaegal snorted, large amber eyes slitting shut as Jon dutifully continued to pet him. Jon was almost sure Rhaegal was rolling his eyes at him, but the amused indignation was mostly overshadowed by sheer awe of their close proximity.

“What would your mother say if she saw us like this?” He asked the dragon quietly. Rhaegal rumbled a nonsensical reply, the spiked ridges on his back rippling like blades of grass in the wind.

“I will have to tell her,” He said, more to himself than to the resting dragon, “Daenerys deserves to know.”

“Who deserves to know what, little crow?” A rough voice asked from behind.

Jon turned and found Tormund standing at the edge of the godswood, gaunt and covered in bruises, but still very much alive. Before Jon could answer, he was swept off his feet by the big wildling, the air crushed from his lung from Tormund’s rib-cracking hug. Rhaegal growled, bristling.

“Easy, boy,” Jon gasped into the thick fur around Tormund’s neck. He flapped a hand at the dragon who reluctantly settled back down. Tormund set him down with a low whistle, “so the rumors are true, Snow. You rode one of the winged beasts.”

“The others?” Jon asked.

“Edd, the one-eyed fanatic, and a handful of others at Castle Black managed to make it out alive,” Tormund said grimly, “we had to skirt around the army of the dead. The Umber boy is dead as well.”

Jon swallowed. “How long do we have?”

“Hours,” Tormund shrugged, “they will be here before dawn.”

 

* * *

 

He ended up telling Tormund first. Huddled in the watch tower and throat burning from the terrible ale the other man had snuck from the kitchens, Jon opened his mouth and said, “I’m not a true Northerner.”

There was a pause while Tormund gulped down more ale. He belched loudly and shuffled closer, “did the dragon drop you on your head earlier, Snow? What are you talking about?”

“My parents, they,” He struggled for a moment, not sure how to explain the concept to a wildling North of the Wall. “I was born in Dorne to a Targaryen father and Stark mother.”

“So?” Tormund grunted. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Dorne is…thousands of miles south, Tormund,” Jon sighed, “everything I ever knew was a lie.”

He yelped when Tormund suddenly reached over and slapped him hard on the back of the head. The wildling fisted the front of Jon’s cloak and pulled him close enough that Jon could smell the ale saturating Tormund’s breath with every hissed word.

“You are more North than anyone of those cock-sucking lords and ladies, crow. You fought alongside us against the dead. You died for us, and for that, you’ll always have a home beyond the Wall regardless of who sired you.”

Jon’s breath stilled in his lungs when Tormund pressed their foreheads together. He’d seen other wildlings embrace like this before, but it had always been between family members. Warmth bloomed from the contact. Jon swallowed, willing his heart to be still so he could hear Tormund’s whispered words.

“Jon,” The fire-kissed wildling said, “Not a Targaryen or Snow. Just Jon.”

Then, the forlorn wail of the signal horn tore through the still night and Tormund stepped back, his hair shining like Dothraki gold in the firelight. Rhaegal landed upon the terrace behind Jon, his bulk blocking out the moon overhead and cloaking them in shadow.

Tormund winked, “Don’t fall, pretty crow.”

“Don’t die, wildling,” Jon shot back.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Jon did not have to tell Daenerys.

He had run to defend his grounded queen alongside Jorah Mormont when the Night King’s new mount swooped out of the sky straight for Dany, blue fire blossoming from its gaping maw. Jon did not have time to think when he dove for her, shoving the young queen off the pile of bodies just as Viserion’s fire washed over him.

Jon braced for pain, but none came.

And when it was over, when Arya drove her valyrian steel dagger into the Night King’s chest and Viserion shattered into a millions pieces like the rest of the undead army, Jon turned to find Daenerys staring open-mouthed at him as the incinerated pieces of his armor fell from his body like blackened feathers.

“Only a true dragon can stand the flames,” She murmured, taking a cautious step toward him and narrowing her green eyes, “who are you really, Jon Snow?”

 

* * *

 

He found Tormund among the living hours later. By then, Jon’s skin had blistered and reddened so much that Sam had bandaged his entire torso and forearms after liberally applying a healing salve.

“Let me guess, she did not take it well,” Tormund asked after taking in his bandages. He was drinking alone out on the terrace and the cold night air felt good against Jon’s fire-cracked skin.

“The undead dragon did this to me,” Jon explained, liberating the flask from Tormund’s grip and swallowing down the liquid, Dornish wine this time. Sansa had taken out the good stuff in the post-battle celebration. He hissed at the twinge of discomfort at his throat, “Dany took it pretty well, all things considered.”

“Meaning?”

“She wants me to swear my silence. Bran and Sam as well. The only other witness was Jorah Mormont and he’s not going to say anything that would jeopardize her right to the crown,” He murmured, “She didn’t kill me outright, so I took that as a positive sign.”

“You really do know nothing, Jon Snow,” Tormund said, watching him. Jon huffed at the familiar words. “You’ll always be a threat to her. The man who is more entitled to the throne.”

He eyed the wildling, “I thought you knew nothing of the politics of Westeros.”

“That does not mean I do not see what is obvious, crow,” Tormund said grimly, “seeing too much good in people will get you killed.”

“I saw good in you too,” He pointed out, leaning into the redhead. He felt lightheaded, a little drunk and a little emboldened by their victory against the dead.

“Aye, and it got you killed, didn’t it? A knife through the heart,” Tormund pointed out. He did not smile when he put a warm palm to the back of Jon’s neck and said, “don’t go South with the dragon queen, little crow.”

“Where will I go then?” Jon breathed back, staring into Tormund’s sky-blue eyes. Footsteps put an end to their conversation before the wildling could answer, and they both turned to see the Lady of Winterfell walk out onto the terrace.

“Jon,” Sansa inclined her head in greeting, “a word if you please.”

 

* * *

 

His sister refused to bend the knee and Jon watched as Dany’s face filled with rage. Jorah and Davos hurriedly stepped in to smooth the tension when the young queen abruptly stood and stormed out of the room. Jon found her seething alone in one of the watch towers overlooking the gates of Winterfell.

“Have you come to reason with me on behalf of your sister?” She spat at him when Jon made his presence known.

“No,” He joined her and peered down at his childhood home. “Sansa is stubborn, your grace, and the North is loyal to the Starks.”

“If that is your attempt to make me feel better—”

“It is not, Dany,” He interrupted gently, “you are my queen, and as queen, you must make compromises in order to further your people’s interests. Sansa may not agree to bend the knee, but if you relinquish the North, I know I will be able to convince her to let them ride south with us.”

“And what of you?” Her eyes flashed challengingly.

Daenerys’ clear distrust stung, but Jon soldiered on, “I have no interest in the crown. I just want this damned war to be over, so I can go home.”

Dany frowned. “Back here to Winterfell?”

Down below in the courtyard, Bran appeared. He seemed flustered, both hands gripping the arms of his chair tight enough for Jon to spot the whites of his knuckles. Seconds later, he saw the source of Bran’s distress. The head of fiery red locks was a dead giveaway. Tormund gave the boy’s seat a hearty kick when one of its wheels lodged against stone and nearly upended the youngest Stark into the dirt. Brienne, who had been following close behind, shoved the bewildered wildling away and took over.

Jon laughed out loud at the look on Tormund’s face.

“No, farther north,” He said.

 

* * *

 

The Targaryen army rode south the next morning with what was left of the Northern banner men who were willing to follow Jon. Sansa nodded when their eyes met, her expression still cool and aloof. He didn’t blame her for despising him for what he had forced her to relinquish in return for the North’s autonomy. She came to a stop next to Sandor Clegane’s horse, and to Jon’s immense surprise, he dismounted at the sight of her.

“Little bird,” He began wearily, but she cut him off with an elegant hand.

Jon watched as his sister pulled out an ivory white handkerchief embroidered with their house sigil and gently took the Hound’s sword hand. Sansa wrapped the silken cloth around his wrist.

“Your lady bestows you a favor, Ser,” She said evenly, ignoring his quiet protests. “If you ever find yourself in need of a place to stay, Winterfell will always be open to you.” A rare smile, bright like a winter’s rose, crossed Sansa’s face, “we’ll have all the chicken and wine you’ll ever desire.”

“Careful there, lady wife,” Tyrion called out to them from his and Varys' carriage, “you might even tempt me to stay.”

“The more the merrier, lord husband,” Sansa responded with a devious smirk. Her fingers lingered in the Hound’s palm as she met his gaze, “Don’t lose, Sandor.”

Clegane nodded dumbly.

“You are sure about this?” Brienne asked as she walked the older Lannister brother over to where Tyrion was sprawled on his cushions like a fat cat in a sun beam. Varys pursed his lips disapprovingly at his splayed legs.

“In case Cercei does not surrender, I need to do it myself,” Jaime said, low enough that Jon almost did not hear him over the sounds of the Dothraki horses. Brienne’s jaw tightened. Jaime smiled crookedly at her, “where’s my lady’s favor, Brienne?”

“How about a black eye for good fortune, Ser Jaime?” She retorted cooly. They clasped arms in farewell. Jaime was still laughing when he mounted his steed. Brienne rolled her eyes and sent his horse into a trot with a hard smack to the rear.

“What does she see in him?” Tormund, who had silently snuck up on Jon, muttered sullenly in his ear. The wildling threw a thick around around his shoulder and sighed dejectedly as they watched the Kingslayer ride out of the gates of Winterfell.

“Someone that’s not you, I presume,” Jon said with a low laugh. Ghost nosed at his hand expectantly, so he reached out and scratched the direwolf fondly under the chin.

“I meant it the other night, little crow,” Tormund said, his body a comforting weight against Jon’s as they both watched Dany descent the stone steps like a goddess.

“I know,” He smiled and drew the redheaded man into a proper hug, “watch Ghost for me until I get back, will you?”

“Shall we ride, Jon Snow?” Daenerys called out to him, the challenge clear in her voice.

“Don’t fall,” Tormund reminded, squeezing the nape of his neck with a warm hand.

“I won’t,” Jon whispered back.

 

* * *

 

Jon could see the pointed tips of the Red Keep on dragonback by the time the message from Varys’ little bird reached them. Scorpions, hundreds of them, mounted on every ship and along the outer walls of King’s Landing. Euron Greyjoy, waiting to ambush them in the bay with the rest of his fleet.

“We mustn’t lose any more dragons, your grace,” The eunuch insisted when Dany told them of her plans to fly into the bay on her dragons. “Tyrion told me of the close encounter you had with one of those dreadful machines at Blackwater Rush.”

She gritted her teeth in irritation, “Then what use are my dragons if I cannot fly close enough to destroy their fleet with dragonfire?”

“The Night King,” Jon mused quietly, “he concealed Viserys in a blizzard.”

“We don’t exactly have the Night King’s powers, Jon Snow,” Tyrion said, exasperated. He was still frowning critically down at the crude maps they’d drawn in the disturbed dirt when Jon stood and walked over to where Drogon and Rhaegal were resting. The green dragon lifted his head and Daenerys and company all watched in silence as Jon leaned in and whispered a few words. He patted Rhaegal’s neck and stood back.

“What are you doing?” Dany asked when the dragon spread his wings and swooped down the side of the cliff. Seconds later, Rhaegal opened his mouth and let loose a thick pillar of flame into the cold ocean waves. The water hissed upon contact, boiling over as thick opaque steam began to rise.

“We don’t need the Night King’s powers to conceal the dragons, your grace,” Jon smiled, “the dragons will conceal themselves.”

 

* * *

 

“Rhaegal likes you,” Daenerys said the moment they were alone on the cliffside. Her expression was impassive, but her voice carried a hint of accusation, “nephew.”

And there it was, the dreaded word. Jon said nothing.

“We are the last of the Targaryen line,” Dany murmured, “it seems such a waste for you to take the black again.”

“You could always try for an heir once the kingdom is secured,” Jon pointed out, “as for me, I would gladly trade my life for peace.”

“Good,” Daenerys smiled sharply and gestured for Drogon to lower his wing, “I would hate for your sons and daughters to suffer my fate.”

He mulled over the curious words as he mounted Rhaegal’s back, and it was only when Daenerys and Drogon burst from the heat fog that had settled over Euron’s fleet that Jon realized what she had really meant — that if he ever sired any children, she would hunt them to the ends of the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hound is actually not a knight, but Sansa doesn't care.
> 
> I am also aware that GRRM said that Dany is not fire-resistant, but this is fanfiction, so suspend your disbelief and assume that Jon has some form of resistance as well. Also assume that Brienne and Jaime has not sleep together yet.
> 
> Honestly tho, Dany seems to be fireproof in the show... *somersaults into bush*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Surrender by ringing the bell in the tallest tower,” Dany said as she turned to leave, “you have till noon tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has both Jon and Jaime's POV. I had to tweak a few spots in canon to make my version flow a little better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Jon._

 

Euron Greyjoy, bloodied and disheveled, knelt before them.

Jon stood next to Jorah Mormont and Jaime Lannister as Daenerys smiled down at their captive. Tyrion and Varys loitered behind Missandei, their expressions impassive. In the distance, Jon could faintly make out the anguished howls of the surviving Ironborn. The air smelled of fire and death and he could still feel Rhaegal’s heaving flanks between his thighs. He and Drogon had destroyed the Iron Fleet like the ships had been made of paper.

“Well?” Dany prompted, “what have you to say for yourself, Euron Greyjoy?”

“My queen, allow me to offer you my fealty,” His fake smile was simpering but did nothing to hide the flaring panic in his blue-grey eyes. A murmur of laughter swept through the Dothraki and Unsullied. Daenerys lifted an eyebrow.

“You, offer me your loyalty?” She asked incredulously, “when mere minutes ago you were attempting to shoot down my dragons. You showed your true colors when you decided to gift Cercei Lannister your men and fleet.”

“If you allow me to live, my queen, I vow to bring you her head,” He hissed, staggering forward on his knees. Jon’s hand instinctively fell to his sword as did Jorah’s. Daenerys pretended to contemplate Euron’s proposal for a brief second.

“So let me get this straight,” She drawled, “you would be willing to assassinate Cercei for me in return for your life? What makes you think she would trust you enough to let you anywhere near her?”

Euron’s face broke into a smug smirk, “because I’m the father of her child, my queen.”

Jon saw in the corner of his right eye Jaime’s flesh hand tighten over the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the blond man but Jaime refused to meet his gaze.

Dany narrowed her eyes, “You are willing to kill your flesh and blood for me?”

“There will be other children to come, my queen,” He leered openly, his gaze running hungrily over Daenerys’ form, “perhaps blonder ones.”

“No, there won’t,” She decided after a tense pause and rose to her feet. The young dragon queen said something in Dothraki to Jorah and jerked her chin at the bound figure. Her entourage turned to follow her without a word. Jon watched as Mormont heaved Theon’s bleeding uncle to his feet. He had a feeling Euron would not survive to see the sunrise tomorrow.

Daenerys paused to call out to Jon, “Come, Snow. I need your input on our attack of King’s Landing.”

So he went.

 

* * *

 

As he had expected, she opted for the same strategy of using dragons.

“Dragons,” Tyrion said, “instill fear, my queen.”

“And?” Dany replied cooly, “shouldn’t the Lannister army and the Golden Company fear me?”

“They should,” The Imp conceded gently, “but the people will also fear you, and that is not something we want. Think about it, my queen, what makes you different from my sister? What can you do to win over your future subjects? Fear is what Cercei used on them. Going the same route as her will not make you a popular ruler.”

“But it will win me the war,” Dany objected, “surely they will see that I am here to free them.”

“Aye, it would win you the war,” Jon murmured, glancing down at the map of King’s Landing, “but this not Slaver’s Bay. The people here are not slaves and they don’t see themselves as such. You will just be another tyrant to them, albeit one with dragons. Cercei is familiar to them, she is of Westeros and you a foreign conquerer.”

“What are you saying?” Daenerys frowned.

“What Jon Snow means to say is that the same thing that happened in Meereen will happen here in King’s Landing. You will be faced with protesters, and quite possibly underground insurgency groups like the Sons of Harpy,” Varys explained silkily, “we _can_ take the city by force, my queen, but you will not have their hearts.”

“Then you are all advising me to reason with her?” Dany ground her teeth, “remember how well that went last time, Lord Varys? Cercei lied to us. She wanted the undead army to wipe out my men.”

“And yet you came riding to her doorsteps with enough men anyway,” He said gently, “what distinguishes you from Cercei is kindness and compassion. Offer them mercy, my queen, and the people will give the city to you.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“What reason would compel her to meet with us?” Dany asked, exasperated.

“Khaleesi, the prisoner has been secured,” Jorah Mormont said as he pushed his way into the makeshift tent. As one, they all turned to him. Mormont blinked, looking a little startled at sudden attention.

“The squid man,” Tyrion said, snapping his fingers, “that will our reason.”

 

* * *

 

Jon had not seen her in years, not since that fated day Robert Baratheon rode into Winterfell with his golden-haired children and his equally golden wife. She had that same condescending sneer on her face now as she watched them from atop the battlements with Qyburn at her side. It certainly made an interesting scene, Daenerys Targaryen and her wild army from across the Narrow Sea face to face with Cercei Lannister and her Golden Company.

 _The two most powerful women in all of Westeros,_ Jon thought, squinting up at the short-haired woman. At his side, Dany lifted a hand and Jorah wrestled a bound and gagged Euron Greyjoy out from behind the line of Unsullied. Cercei’s sneer became even more pronounced at the sight of him.

“Is that all you have to bargain with, my lady?” Qyburn asked for her. He sounded calm, like he’d just inquired about the weather and not the bloodied man kneeling in the dirt.

Cercei’s expression soured when Jaime strode out from behind Dany’s soldiers with sword in hand. His shoulders were slumped and Jon saw how tightly he was gritting his teeth, but Jaime did as he promised earlier and grabbed a fistful of Euron’s hair, the sharp edge of his blade coming to rest at his exposed throat.

“Your fleet is destroyed,” Daenerys said coldly, “you have nothing to fight against my dragons, Cercei Lannister. Forfeit the throne and I will allow your loved ones to live. Refuse, and I will make sure you wish you were never born.”

“Tough words for a little girl,” Cercei spat.

Jon, who had been scrutinizing her every move, saw the woman lift her left pinkie. He drew his sword just as the archer on the farthest left side of the battlement notched his arrow. Jon leapt in front of Dany and swung out blindly. There was a piercing screech as the arrowhead skittered across the flat side of his blade and buried itself deep into the dirt at Daenerys’ feet. The Dothraki warriors and the Unsullied roared into life, horses and men suddenly surrounding them on all sides. In all the chaos, Dany met Jon’s gaze with wide eyes, and for a moment, he thought he saw the scared little girl she had once been. Then, Daenerys’ expression hardened.

“Ser Jaime,” She said flatly, pushing her way out of the crowd.

To his credit, Jaime Lannister only hesitated a fraction of a second before he slit Euron Greyjoy’s throat.

“Surrender by ringing the bell in the tallest tower,” Dany said as she turned to leave, “you have till noon tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

That night, she found him with Rhaegal under the stars. Jon was chewing bits of herbs from the bag of healing supplies Sam had secretly hid in his belongings and coaxing the dragon to show him the puncture wound on his left wing. One of Euron’s scorpions had scored a shot right through Rhaegal's wing.

“What are you doing, Jon Snow?” She asked, laughing this time as he spat out the bitter wad. Jon shuddered at the taste and Rhaegal snorted, blowing a gust of hot air into his grimacing face.

“I’m trying to apply some herbs to his wound,” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and frowned, “I think my tongue is going numb. Is that normal?”

Daenerys buried her smile against Rhaegal’s face when he leaned in to sniff her in greeting. Jon spat some more.

“You could have ground it up with a stone instead of gnashing on it like an old goat,” Dany pointed out, lending a helping hand with the application when he gagged at the sour aftertaste.

“You couldn’t have shown up sooner?” He croaked at her once he wiped his mouth clean. Jon sighed and sat down next to the dragon. He patted the ground beside him.

“I like animals,” Jon told her once Daenerys was seated, “they’re not complex like man. If you love them, they will love you back.”

“I once loved a man who loved me back. Not because he wanted anything in return. I was sold to him by my brother Viserys, but we fell in love and he promised he would take the Iron Throne for me,” She said after a peaceful pause, “then he died, and I vowed never to love another again.” Dany turned to look at him, “you make that very hard, Jon Snow. Do you know that?”

He swallowed, unsure of what to say.

“My queen,” He started uneasily, “my loyalty will always lie with you—”

“I know,” Dany smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. Lonely. “You gave your heart away long before you met me.”

Jon thought of the fire-kissed wildling, of Ygritte, his first love. Her ice blue eyes, pale skin, and fierce nature. Then, he thought of Tormund, big powerful Tormund, loyal to a fault and father to two tiny redheaded girls who utilized every chance to slip little pieces of grass and rocks into his bedding whenever Jon wasn’t looking. He remembered the warmth of Tormund’s forehead against his, their joint breaths fanning white between them.

_Don’t die in the South, crow. Come home._

“Aye, I did,” He admitted, flushing a little. He was grateful that it was dark and Dany could not see the red crawling up his neck.

“Simple things are good,” Daenerys said finally, “don’t let go, Jon Snow.”

“I won’t,” He promised.

“Will you come visit once in a while?” She asked solemnly, meeting his eyes. Jon reached out in the darkness and curled his fingers around hers. He imagined briefly what it would have been like if he’d grown up alongside Daenerys. Would she have been less lonely? Would he have been?

“Just send the word, Dany,” Jon vowed, “and I will be here.”

 

* * *

 

_Jaime._

 

Jaime snuck out of the Targaryen camp before the sun broke through the horizon. It was a short run and a half-hour long swim to reach the entrance of Tyrion’s secret tunnel. He hacked through the flimsy barricade they had set up inside and slid out of the sewers into the pits of city. Jaime had not informed Tyrion of his plans, not because he feared his brother would tell the dragon queen but that he feared he would lose his motivation to save Cercei. He knew that his sister was not bound by honor and yesterday’s lowly assassination attempt was just another reminder of that fact, but she deserved a chance at life, their unborn child deserved a chance at life.

He knocked out a Lannister soldier along the way and donned his armor and helmet. There weren’t many guards around the Red Keep. Cercei had commanded all of her soldiers to man the walls and entrances into King’s Landing, so Jaime slipped into the castle undisturbed.

When he found her, Cercei was standing alone on the balcony overlooking the city. She whirled around at the noise and Jaime rushed at her, drawing his sister into his arms. He did not expect her to slap him, and the sharp pain snapped Jaime out of his stupor as the Mountain, loitering in the shadows, stepped forth. Despite himself, Jaime’s hand went instinctively to his sword.

“Have you come to slit my throat too, Jaime?” Cercei hissed at him, her nails digging painfully into his forearms. Jaime's heart thudded in his chest. The sun was blazing down upon them now and noon was just a hair’s breath away. “I came to save you. We could leave the city—”

“And go where?” She interrupted coldly, “this is my kingdom, and that naive little girl and her idiot horse men can’t take it from me.”

“What about the dragons? Can Ser Gregor protect you from two fully grown dragons?” Jaime demanded, “I love you, Cercei. Nothing else matters. Father is dead. We can start anew, steal across the Narrow Sea and raise our child there.”

“What child?” Cercei sneered, ripping herself out of his grasp. She moved toward the balcony again, an ugly smile gracing her face as she peered out at her kingdom.

The first blades clashing outside of the city gates sounded oddly like wind chimes in a breeze. The Dothraki war cries reached him seconds later and gooseflesh rippled along Jaime’s arms at the savage excitement in their voices. But he paid them no mind as he followed Cercei out into the sunlit balcony.

“What do you mean?” Jaime found himself asking. The sunlight set the gold in Cercei’s hair alight like small streaks of dragon fire. He felt like he was standing in a surreal dreamscape. She folded her hand over her belly and said simply, “I lied. There was no baby.”

Jaime felt the blood pounding in his head grow louder. His sister’s lips were still moving but he could hardly hear the words.

“You men are so easily manipulated,” Cercei sneered contemptuously, “I can easily rule the kingdom from my bedroom.”

From their vantage point, Jaime saw the two dragons fly into view. Flames billowed from their mouthes as Daenerys’ beasts easily destroyed the scorpions mounted along the battlements. Jaime could almost hear the phantom cries of the soldiers as they burned alive for his sister’s wild ambitions.

“Surrender,” He urged her, “or tens of thousands will die. Innocent women and children will die, Cercei.”

“Let them,” Cercei took a leisurely sip of her wine, “their lives mean nothing to me.”

Across the city, Drogon roared in pain when one of the last remaining scorpions buried an arrow as thick as Jaime’s forearm into his side. Rhaegal swooped in and with one mighty sweep of his tail, smashed the scorpion into smithereens along with a sizable chuck of the wall. Small figures dressed in Lannister armor poured out of the hole like blood from an open wound. Seconds later, the southern gate exploded into a fiery pit of melted stone and lava. Daenerys’ troops flooded into the opening and fell upon the Golden Company.

It was like seeing Robert’s Rebellion once again. Jaime turned slowly to look at his sister. There was a savage glee in her eyes that chilled him to the bone. He had seen the same look on Aerys Targaryen’s face before he had run the man through with his sword.

“Perhaps I should have the soldiers ring that bell, Jaime. Once she’s off her dragon and inside city, my archers will make short work of the girl and our dear little brothe—”

Her words came to an abrupt stop. Jaime glanced down at the dagger in his hand. It was Tyrion’s blade. The Stark girl had given it back to him after her sister Arya had slain the Night King with it, and now it was buried to the hilt in Cercei’s chest.

Her legs gave out abruptly, but he caught her in his arms. Distantly, past the hollow ringing inside his skull, Jaime heard the Mountain’s thundering steps. The stone shattered inches from his face, little pieces of rock stinging his exposed skin. Jaime looked up into the monster’s blood-red eyes. He would die here with his twin. It was only right that he repented for his treason. But then, Sandor Clegane came charging out of nowhere and buried a rusty axe into the Mountain’s neck. Gregor roared in pain and promptly abandoned his task of hacking Jaime into little bloody pieces.

“Go ring the bell, you sister-fucking cunt!” Sandor Clegane snarled, drawing his sword and squaring his shoulders, “I got this.”

He was frozen to the spot, unable to move.

“Now or the little blonde bitch will burn us all!” The Hound kicked Jaime in the side hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Cercei slid from his grasp as he staggered blindly to his feet. The Clegane brothers were laying into each other with heavy fists now. Jaime took one last look at the love of his life.

 _Traitor. Queenslayer._ Her vacant eyes seemed to scream.

He fled down the steps.

 

* * *

 

Jaime didn’t know how he fought his way through the writhing mass of panicked men and women. By the time he hobbled up the rickety stairs to the top of the bell tower, he was bleeding freely and gasping for breath.

The dragons were circling outside of King’s Landing, puffing occasional bursts of fire down onto the screaming Lannister men below.

Jaime pulled his exhausted body upright, wrapped his fingers around the lever, and shoved as hard as he could. The pulley creaked and began to move as the massive copper bell slowly sounded three mournful times, signaling the city’s surrender. Man by man, Cercei’s army dropped their weapons and knelt.

When Drogon landed triumphantly atop the ruined gates of King’s Landing, Jaime finally allowed his tears to flow free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said I’d break the wheel, didn’t I?”

_Jon._

 

He dismounted at the ruined gates, the sound of his boots crunching upon destroyed stone loud in the silence after the city’s surrender. Daenerys rode on without stopping, and Jon’s dragon nudged him in confusion. He patted Rhaegal’s muzzle and stood back as the green beast swept open his massive wings and followed his brother into King’s Landing by air. Across from him, what remained of the Lannister army stood wearily, their weapons at their feet. Jon stared back, uncertain of what to do next.

“Come and walk with me, Jon Snow,” A chipper voice said from behind. The Imp smiled thinly at him as he sauntered past. Jon took a tentative step over the threshold of King’s Landing and fell into step next to Dany’s Hand.

The deeper they moved into the city, the less destruction there was. Small children and gaunt-faced women watched them from open windows as they walked. Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm had joined them from the eastern gate, Varys and Missandei from the west. A small red ball bounced across Jon’s path. He smiled when it came to a stop against his ankle, and when he bent to hand it back to the tiny blue-eyed girl, her mother let out a fearful sob and fell to her knees. He recoiled in shock.

“We mean you no harm, kind woman,” Tyrion rushed forth to explain. He withdrew a few gold coins from his tunic and held them out to the woman. She didn’t take them. Jorah sighed at the lame attempt, unfastened his sword, and dropped down to one knee in front of the little girl, “how about a sweet for the young lady then?”

Jon had not a clue how he’d gotten his hands on candy in the middle of a siege, but there they were, perfectly wrapped in oiled paper and free of blood and gore. The little girl blinked up at him.

“For me?” She asked. He nodded with a kind smile. The girl reached out a hesitant hand and took one. Jon saw the woman relax a little. He was aware that others were watching them.

“I believe this is yours as well, little lady,” Jon said, gently placing the little round ball at her feet. The child smiled at him, easily won over by the treats.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Jon promised her mother. She did not answer, but Jon knew he had done all that he could, so they continued their trek to the Red Keep.

“Can I have a sweet, Ser Jorah?” Tyrion chirped the moment they were out of earshot. Jorah Mormont snorted loudly, “they’re for _children_ , Lord Hand.”

“I am the approximate size of a child if that helps,” He retorted smartly. Jon met Mormont’s amused gaze and couldn’t help his answering grin.

“No means no, Lannister,” Jorah said sternly. The Imp complained the entire way to the Red Keep about injustices and hideous discrimination against little people.

 

* * *

 

Rhaegal was waiting for them by the entrance when Jon and co. finally arrived. Along the way, they had gathered quite a group of bold and curious bystanders eager for the latest gossip and news. Many jumped back in alarm at the sight of Rhaegal, but Jon detected a faint trace of excitement lacing the air as they chattered amongst themselves. The crowd gasped as Daenerys stepped out of the shadows, Drogon crawling into sight on the battlements above.

“Jon, Jorah,” She called out to them, “come with me.”

Under the scrutiny of a fifth of the population in King’s Landing, Jon ascended the steps. The dragons bullied they way into the narrow entrance after them, and he heard the sound of pillars groaning as they bent beneath their sheer brutal force.

He had never been inside the Great Hall before. It was a massive room, the ceiling tall enough for both Drogon and Rhaegal to stretch to their fullest height and still not touch its surface. The throne that Jon had heard Rob and Theon tell stories of when they were children stood at the end of the hall. Daenerys paused at the steps leading up to it. In the dim light, Jon saw her throat convulse. She looked so young, standing there balanced on the precipice of all that power. He met Ser Jorah’s gaze.

“It’s a lot smaller than I imagined,” Jon found himself saying, the soft words beating back the silence around them. Dany took a small startled breath, her face turning to him. She met his gaze and Jon smiled gently. She took another breath, deeper this time, and he watched her face settle, the maturity returning as her nerves evaporated.

Daenerys took a step forward, and then another.

He stood at the foot of the throne with Jorah Mormont as Dany touched one of the sword hilts with a reverent hand.

“I dreamed of standing here since I was a little girl,” She said quietly, almost trance-like. “I always wondered if the king that sat upon the throne willingly bled for his people.” Daenerys touched another sword, tip this time, “so many people died for this chair.”

There was soft and innocent expression that was oddly out of place here on her face when she ran a wistful hand over her flat belly, “Drogo, my beloved. Look, we’re finally here.”

Then, Dany squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and said, _“dracarys.”_

The two dragons obeyed without hesitation, and Jon could only watch in frozen astonishment as Daenerys burnt down the throne she had fought so hard to win.

“My queen,” Jorah dropped to one knee, his head bowed. Over the flames, she met Jon’s wide eyes.

“I said I’d break the wheel, didn’t I?”

 

* * *

 

_Tyrion._

 

He watched her emerge from the Great Hall with wings of fire. Of course, it was Drogon, but for a split second, Tyrion believed. And when she opened her mouth to address her new subjects, the glimmer of triumph shining in her green eyes and Jon Snow standing diminutively at her side, he knew that Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen had finally won.

It was later, walking through the mostly undamaged city and breathing in the faint scent of smoke, that Tyrion spotted his brother. Jaime was covered from head to toe in soot and dried blood. He was sitting in an empty alleyway with a clear view of the Red Keep and a wineskin clutched loosely in one hand.

“Our queen has agreed to lay our sister to rest beneath the castle if that is what you want,” He said.

“Your queen,” Jaime said bitterly. “I only did what I had to do to keep the city from destruction.”

“Cercei was not a kind woman, you know,” Tyrion said, taking a seat next to his brother. Jaime took a swig from the wineskin. “Aye, and I loved her anyway.”

“You also love another,” The Imp pointed out gently, “and she is someone who brings out the best in you. I thought I’d lost my dear brother to Cercei’s influence, but Brienne brought him back.”

“I’m an oathbreaker,”Jaime glared, "I betrayed the very essence that Brienne vowed to uphold—”

“She will understand,” Tyrion interrupted, laying his hand over Jaime’s golden one. His older brother’s eyes were still red-rimmed but Jaime braved a watery smile for Tyrion anyway.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to fuck your little runt of a brother now that your sister’s dead, Lannister,” A rough voice croaked from the darkness at the other end of the alley. Tyrion yelped and Jaime sloshed his wineskin all over his chest plates in startled bewilderment as the Hound, covered in dirt and still bleeding sluggishly in one eye, came limping into sight.

“You gonna drink the rest of that?” Sandor Clegane asked, wincing. Tyrion wrestled the wineskin from Jaime’s limp hand and handed it over cautiously. Clegane sloshed some of it over the dirt on his face, hissed in pain, and downed the rest in a couple of long gulps. He tossed it back to the Lannister brothers. The empty leather pouch smacked Jaime in the chin, but he gave no acknowledgment.

“You look like shit,” Jaime finally said after a delicate pause but Clegane just shrugged and grunted, “you should see my brother, King Slayer.”

 

* * *

 

_Varys._

 

He found Jon Snow at what was left of the southern gate along with a handful of Danerys men. They had already begun the difficult task of clean-up and restoration by the time Varys arrived. The boy was in the thick of it, heavy furs shed off to the side in a pile and sleeves rolled up to ward off the heat. As the former Master of Whisperers had anticipated, the green dragon was lazing about a few yards off, curled like a contented cat upon a small mountain of rubble.

He was a Targaryen alright.

“Lord Varys,” Jon Snow said when he cleared his throat for attention. The boy squinted at him, sweat running down his face and black hair sticking every which way, “are you…here to help us?”

Varys toed a small stone with his foot. “Sadly no, Lord Snow. Or should I call you by your real name?”

His face hardened immediately. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Varys. We are busy if you don’t mind—”

“Walk with me, Aegon.”

“Don’t call me that!” Snow hissed, speeding up when Varys turned abruptly and ducked out of sight.

“What are we doing up here?” He panted when they climbed the length stairs leading up to the battlements. There was still blood shining wetly on the stones. Lannister blood no doubt. Varys hiker up his robes and daintily stepped over it. They looked down upon King’s Landing. The city glowed golden orange in the sunlight.

“This should have been yours,” Varys said softly, tucking both hands into his sleeves, “you are after all, the rightful heir to the iron throne.”

“There is no iron throne left, Lord Varys,” Jon Snow said before adding stubbornly, “and I never wanted to be king.”

“Hmm,” He studied the boy with a frown, “you’ve gone feral, haven’t you? Result of time spent on the other side of the Wall I presume, Lord Snow. A true taste of freedom and you are no longer bound by the rules of men.”

“I’m not a Targaryen or Snow,” He said. Varys lifted a thin brow, “then what are you?”

Something almost fond crossed over the Targaryen boy’s face, something that Varys might have identified as love a long time ago, but now he merely saw it as a weakness. The boy was soft, and soft got you killed in King’s Landing.

“Just Jon,” He said.

“Well Just Jon, thanks to you and your clever tongue, we have ourselves a new queen.”

“You don’t seem overly excited.”

Varys sniffed. “I care for the kingdom and its people. Daenerys Targaryen will have to prove herself the true queen by providing them with peace and prosperity.” He glanced at the boy sideways. Jon was frowning off into the distance, brown eyes morose. “You know they say that every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. I know how yours landed, Jon, but I can’t say the same for the new queen. Perhaps hers has landed on its side and a single wisp of wind from the wrong direction could send it toppling over to madness.”

“Sounds like you’d better build a wall around that coin then,” Jon said.

“Hmm,” He hummed contemplatively, “what an ironic world we live in. Those who are fit to be kings and queens do not want the title.”

“Lord Varys—” The boy began wearily, but Varys lifted a hand.

“I will let you get back to sorting your pile of junk,” He said, “but you should ride north as soon as you can, my dear boy, for duty may not have relinquished you from its clutches just yet, and you’d want to be as far away from here if you don’t want to be accidentally tangled in its snares.”

“And you Lord Varys, will you stay on as the Master of Whisperers?” Jon asked.

Varys’ mouth twitched, “I’m afraid I have been tasked with the matter of coin under the new Targaryen rule. Apparently, my little birds cannot rival that of _actual_ birds.”

The boy frowned, “What do you mean?”

“There,” Varys pointed to a dark spot among the sandy dunes outside the city gates, “our new Master of Whisperers, or as you know him, Bran Stark.”

Jon gaped wordlessly.

Varys shrugged somewhat apathetically, “Can’t compete with that, now can I? The ink on the queen's letter hasn’t even dried and the young wolf is already at our doorsteps.”

 

* * *

 

_Jon._

 

Daenerys came herself to send him off the next morning. She looked tired but in good spirits when she leaned in to embrace him.

“Kindness and mercy, Dany, those are the qualities that make you unique,” He murmured, smiling at her, “never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Daenerys promised. “Goodbye Jon Snow.”

He brushed a kiss over her knuckles, “goodbye, my queen.”

He then bade farewell to the members of Daenerys’ new Small Council. She had decided to spare Qyburn’s life in return for his continued services as Grand Maester and Yara had agreed to temporarily take over duties for the Master of Ships. Greyworm was promoted to the head of Dany’s guards and Master of War.

“I suppose this is farewell, Jon Snow,” Tyrion said after clasping arms with him.

“I suppose it is,” Jon agreed with a grin. “May we never see each other again.”

“Oh but I think we will,” Tyrion winked, and Jaime, tugging along an unwilling sand-colored mare, came pushing out of the small crowd. He had heavy bags under his eyes and appeared to have not slept a wink last night.

“Tyrion can’t be the only Lannister to have pissed over the Wall, can he?” He muttered quietly, but before Jon could reply, another voice sputtered, “You are seriously taking the black? _You,_ Jaime fucking Lannister?”

Jon twisted to see the Hound elbow his way over, a brown horse treading along behind him. The burnt side of his face was heavily bandaged.

“I know I look like fucking Dondarrion with longer hair, you don’t have to stare,” Clegane waved Jon’s inquisitive look aside with a heavy hand that nearly smacked the younger man in the face.

Jaime bristled, “I need to atone for my sins.”

“Which part? For fucking your sister or fucking killing her?”

“Gentlemen,” Jon began.

“I suppose I’d take the black too if Brienne of fucking Tarth was into me,” Sandor Clegane mused aloud. A vein pulsed in Jaime’s neck. “You shut your mouth, dog, or I will shut it for you. What’s adding one more name to the list of people I’ve already killed?”

“You gonna slap me around with that gold hand?” Clegane snorted, “do your fucking worst, Lannister.”

“I am not riding north with either of you,” Jon said, backing away quickly.

“Bad news for you, we’re both coming along,” They said in unison, turning on him. Jon met Dany’s eyes. She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. He wondered whether it was too late to ask Rhaegal to just fly him home instead.

 

* * *

 

It really was _the worst._

Jaime Lannister bitched and whined the whole time, and Sandor Clegane insisted that they stop at every inn possible to devour all their chickens and wine. Jon honestly lost track of how long they’d been on the road by the time the welcoming sight of Winterfell came into view. His beard had grown out of control and Jaime’s horse had had just about enough of its rider.

It was near dawn when Jon rode into his childhood home. All was quiet and the courtyard was empty of all inhabitants. Then the spell broke as heavy footsteps thudded down the steps and thick arms wound around Jon’s waist, lifting him off his feet and knocking the breath out of his lungs.

“My little crow,” Tormund cooed in Jon’s ear. Every drop of tension from the past few weeks seemed to melt away as Jon hugged the wildling fiercely in return.

“Get a bloody room,” the Lion and the Hound jeered in the background.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count has gotten a little out of hand...but Jon's back in the north so we will get to the Jonmund stuff soon. As for Qyburn, I think he's not exactly loyal to Cercei. He comes off as someone who'd be willing to serve as long as the ruler allows him to do his science experiments. That's why I kept him on at King's Landing in the fic. Sam will be staying in Winterfell with Gilly in this version. 
> 
> Drop me a comment?


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